


all i've ever known is how to hold my own (but now i want to hold you too)

by qiras



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Artist AU, College/University, F/M, Foster Care, Friends With Benefits, Implied past self harm, Intimacy issue, Mutual Pining, Romance, Some angst, and fluff, background finn/poe - Freeform, background rose/jessika, but not too much Angst, i am the trash of the thing, it's fun, mentions of mental health issues, rey has issues okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qiras/pseuds/qiras
Summary: inspired by atumblr gifset"he's quite possibly the biggest asshole she’s ever met, but damn if he’s not a good model for her figure painting class.  He’s got the right sorts of muscles and those are transfixing and everything, but the more she paints him the more she notices just how expressive his eyes are…"





	1. i. kaleidoscope heart

**Author's Note:**

> so, there are three chapters to this little thing. this is my first work for anything star wars related because i fell deeply into the trash bin after seeing the last jedi. it's already finished, so i'll post a chapter a day.
> 
> (also, it should be noted: do i know anything about painting? or college? fuck no. did i let that stop me, or even do any research? also fuck no.)

An alarm rings. Rey groans and rolls over, hand fumbling for her phone in the dark. She presses snooze and unlocks it. 

**From: Poe**  
**To: Rey**  
**Sent: October 16, 7:28 am**  
u doing alright? 

**From: Rey  
** oh, you know me. i’m always doing alright.  


There’s another text, and she rolls her eyes. If those two would get their shit together, she’d only be answering one message before eight this fine morning.

**From: Finn  
** **To: Rey  
** **Sent October 16, 7:04 am**  
Are you feeling okay?

**From: Rey**  
yeah, i’m fine. head hurts less, anyway. you can pass the message on to your boyfriend.

****

**From: Finn  
** He’s not my boyfriend! 

**From: Rey  
** yet 

She rolls out of bed fifteen minutes after that first alarm and wanders into the kitchen. Her roommate, Jessika, smirks at her and says, “Good morning, sunshine.”

“The earth says hello,” Rey replies, arching an eyebrow.

Rey rummages through the fridge and pulls out milk. If she puts that in her coffee, she can count it as breakfast, right? She shrugs and pours a generous amount into her mug.

“You’re going to eat something, right?” Jess asks.

“Oh, I’ll probably just get something on the way to class,” Rey says.

Lie.

“Mm-hmm.” Jess eyes her, obviously not fooled. “Well, I’d make sure to eat something, if I were you, because otherwise, my best friends might just shove food down my throat to make sure I ate, especially after I passed out on them last night.” She gives Rey a very pointed look.

“About that...” Rey starts, looking a little sheepish.

“Nope, no excuses. I don’t care. Just make sure you eat something for breakfast so I can tell Finn and Poe to relax.” Jess pauses and grabs a piece of bread. “Actually, eat this while I watch, so we can all be sure you had breakfast.”

“Jess,” Rey protests, “I’m going to be late to class.”

“Don’t care. Eat.”

Rey grumbles, but obediently eats the bread. “Do I have your permission to go now?”

“Only if you promise to eat lunch.”

Rey promises, and sprints out of the apartment towards her class. Yes, it is an eight a.m. class. Yes, she most definitely hates herself a little bit for signing up for it. She thought she could handle it. Eight isn’t too early, she thought. She had an eight a.m. class last year and did just fine.

All of that resulting in the rock-solid conclusion that past Rey was a fucking idiot, which she thinks with special vitriol as she slips into the little studio where her life painting class is held, two minutes and thirteen seconds late and clutching her coffee. Two minutes and thirteen seconds wouldn’t matter that much in any other class, but Phasma, the teacher’s assistant teaching Rey’s life painting class, hates it when people are late. And frankly, life is a lot easier when Phasma is on your side. Or, at least not actively rooting against you.

Not for the first time, Rey wonders whether Phasma is a first or last name. She’d never told them, but Rey assumes Phasma wouldn’t prefer to be on familiar terms with the younger people, nearly all still teenagers, who are essentially her students.

Then she stops short. There’s a man at the front of the classroom that she doesn’t recognize.

Ooh, maybe Phasma won’t notice Rey’s even late. If there’s one thing Phasma hates more than tardiness, it’s people who have inflated opinions of themselves, and something about this man, from the twist of his mouth to the way he looks at her, speaks of privilege and arrogance.

Rey doesn’t have much patience with either.

And Phasma doesn’t say anything. But the man at the front of the room-- his lips quirk to one side, and he says, “Nice of you to join us, Miss...?”

Rey’s chin tilts defiantly, and she doesn’t answer, only takes her seat at her easel.

“What’s he doing?” she hisses to the girl seated next to her.

“He’s modeling for our class,” and of course he is, clad only in a robe, and Rey feels foolish for not noticing, “and I think he’s a grad student. I’d say he’s friends with Phasma, but at this point, I don’t think either of them are capable of friendship.”

Rey’s eyebrows shoot up. Surely two minutes and thirteen seconds are not enough for the man to draw the whole class’s ire. Her mind casts back on how he’d acted when she walked in, and she reconsiders. He is definitely an asshole. “What’s his name?”

The girl (Rey really should know her name; they’ve had this class together for over a month) shrugs. “Phasma called him Ben Solo, earlier, but that might’ve been her making fun of his lack of game or something. We don’t know what passes for friendly teasing in those people’s minds,” the girl smirks. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“Rey,” she says, and shakes Rose’s hand.

The exchange wouldn’t have gone unnoticed, except Ben chose that moment to allow the painting to begin, and _oh_. He’s _fit_.

It’s good to have variety, learn to paint all people of all forms, but she’s really not above appreciating someone who’s objectively attractive. She isn’t about to drool over him, though, no-- his attractiveness is noted, and she moves on. Besides, his body is attractive, but his face is... Oh, fuck her, his face isn’t unattractive either. Different, for sure, and the nose and ears maybe wouldn’t work on another face, but on _his_...

A light flush begins to color her cheeks, but Rey determinedly shoves the flush and the thoughts aside and mixes a new shade.

She’s not an artist. She isn’t. Maybe she hasn’t officially declared a major, but she’s only a sophomore, making sure her generals are finished. The university doesn’t require a major to be declared until after the first semester of sophomore year anyway. But when Rey does declare a major, it’ll be in engineering. Not art. Yeah, she loves painting. Maybe she’s even a little bit good at it. But it doesn’t matter.

Rey knows enough (more than enough, really) in her nineteen years to know she doesn’t want to be hungry, and she’s learned enough (more than enough, really) in her nineteen years to be afraid. Practical is all she knows how to be. Anything else was starved out of her a long time ago.

“So,” Rose says, once Ben is clothed again and they’re all putting their things away, “why are you taking this class?”

“Oh!” Rey says once she realizes Rose is talking to her. “Oh, um, I just... thought it looked interesting.”

Lie.

She doesn’t even talk to Finn or Jess about her artistic... affinities. She’s not having this conversation with a girl whose name she learned five seconds ago.

“I’m a computer science major,” Rose tells her, “and I kind of accidentally signed up for this?”

A laugh is startled out of Rey by the sentence.

“I know,” Rose grins. “How do you even accidentally sign up for an eight a.m. life painting class, right? But I needed an art class to finish my generals, and I wanted to take a painting class, because painting is fun, right? And I meant to sign up for a class at ten, but I guess the names were right next to each other or whatever, and I picked the wrong one. And when I realized my mistake, I decided it was more work than it was worth to change it. And I’m a morning person, anyway, so. I mean.”

Rose looks at Rey expectantly, and Rey realizes she is supposed to talk. “Um, I took this class on purpose.” Which Rose knows, of course, because Rey told her that thirty seconds ago.

Rose laughs, a pretty little bells-and-chimes thing. “Yeah, that makes sense. Uh, what’s your major?”

“Well,” Rey rubs at the back of her neck, underneath the sloppy ponytail she’d shoved her hair into either last night or this morning, she doesn’t really remember, “I haven’t officially declared one yet, but probably engineering.”

“Oh, wow!” Rose sounds surprised, and Rey can almost feel her walls shoot up. (Too many people have underestimated her. She doesn’t make a habit of allowing it anymore.) “I thought for sure you were an art major. You paint _really_ well.”

“Thanks,” Rey says, and she tries to give Rose a small smile, but she doesn’t think it works too well.

Maybe Rose senses she’s pushed too far, that it’ll take a little more graduality, or something. “Listen, do you want to hang out sometime? I just transferred here and I really don’t know anybody.”

Maybe Rey senses a loneliness in her, too, sees a sadness. She is always so careful around people-- a wolf in the forest who is no longer curious because it has been shot at and knows now that hiding and attacking are its two best options-- but she says okay and gives Rose her number. Rey remembers much too well how terrifying it is to not have anybody but yourself.

As she leaves the classroom, she swears she can feel dark eyes upon her back. Not menacing or ill-intentioned at all, no, but they still leave her feeling a little uncomfortable, and she lengthens her stride a little.

* * *

Finn is waiting for her outside the classroom door with coffee and a muffin, which he promptly and unceremoniously shoves into her hands. “Eat,” he commands, folding his arms over his chest.

“I had breakfast. Didn’t Jess tell you?”

“Of course Jess told me. She also told me you tried to skip it, which is not a very smart move when you literally passed out yesterday from low blood sugar.”

“Alright, alright,” she says, and she takes a bite as they start walking. “I am an adult,” she protests half-heartedly. “I can, you know, feed myself.”

Finn raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Which is why you do so well at that, obviously.”

“Oh,” she starts digging in her bag, “how much was it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her, but for all the things Rey has learned to do, that is not one she’s ever been able to pull off. “What time is your shift today?”

“Starts at three, lasts til closing.”

“Jeez,” Finn says, “are they even allowed to keep you that long?”

Rey smiles and shrugs. “I don’t really care, as long as they’re paying me.”

“What time is your break?”

Rey stops in her tracks. “You guys are _not_ going to come to the diner on my break to make sure I eat dinner.”

Finn has the good grace to look a little embarrassed. “If you really don’t want us to...”

“I _really_ don’t.”

“But,” he presses, “you scared us all so bad, peanut. Please, please, promise me you won’t do that to yourself again.”

“I really won’t,” she insists, and they start walking again. “It wasn’t exactly fun for me either. And it was an accident, anyway. I just sort of... forgot.”

Lie.

She didn’t forget to eat, she’d decided not to. Her reasons were her own, and telling them to Finn or Poe or Jess wouldn’t make anything better, so she had no intention of doing so.

“Okay,” Finn says. “You know we all love you.”

She isn’t used to that either.

“I know. I love you too.” 

* * *

Ben Solo, if that’s even his real name, isn’t at their next class. Apparently, Rose informed Rey, Phasma had decided they could only have “fun” once a week.

“You call that fun?” Rey asks, very fairly, in her opinion.

Rose shrugs. “Yeah, he’s an asshole, but at least he’s a good-looking one, and I don’t hate having to paint him. It could be worse.”

Rey concedes that point.

He’s there again Monday of the next week, and the week after. Rey traces the outlines of him onto her canvas. Really, he’s a good study for human musculature. It’s all very... defined. Especially his back muscles.

All the same, his body isn’t what demands her attention. There’s something in his eyes, his beautiful (shut up, brain), dark eyes, that calls to her. Saying, “me too.” Saying, “I know you.”

He doesn’t. Of course. He doesn’t even know her name. But the feeling lingers all the same.

His eyes are her favorite part of him to paint.

(Oh, gross. She did not just think that.)

(She’s going to pretend she didn’t think that. Plausible deniability and all.)

Class ends, and Rey makes her escape. Her brain is being frankly embarrassing at this point, for one thing, and she has to get back to her apartment before her next class. Her phone is dying, and she’s paranoid about the possibility of her phone dying when she needs help.

“Excuse me,” a voice calls. Deep and rich, she knows it has to be Ben Solo’s, but she has no reason to think he’d want to talk to her, and she leaves.

**From: Rose  
** **To: Rey  
** **Sent: November 6, 9:04 a.m.  
** he was totally trying to get ur attention. u know that, right?

********

**From: Rey**  
i have no idea who you’re talking about

Lie.

**From: Rose**  
uh yeah. yeah. okay. do u have some oceanfront property in arizona?

**From: Rey**  
buy it and i’ll throw in the grand canyon for free

She slips her phone in her pocket, grabs her charger from her room, goes to her next class, and doesn’t think about him any more.

She doesn’t.

Until about six-thirty, when he walks into Maz’s diner.

Her heart gives a particularly loud, exceptionally traitorous thump inside her chest.

He’s an asshole! He makes snide remarks if anyone is even a half-second late, and it’s an eight a.m. class, so it happens every week. Plus, she overheard him telling Phasma, “Some of the students may have potential, if there was any evidence they cared about more than sex and alcohol.” Overgeneralizations disagree with Rey. Besides, there were some party kids in that class, but most of the people Rey had observed were not. They were just normal people, and it seemed he had a distaste for that.

So she is not doing this. She’s not.

But of course, he has to sit down at one of _her_ tables. With a sigh, she picks up a menu and walks over to him. “Welcome to the Cantina. I’m Rey, and I’ll be your server tonight,” she recites.

He looks up at her through coal-black eyelashes, and she _really fucking hates_ his eyes, because of course, she doesn’t. “Hello... Rey,” he says. “I’ve been trying to figure out your name for two weeks.”

_Don’t forget_ , something inside her says. _Don’t ever forget._ “Well, I don’t know yours, so I figured that made us even,” she says, a little sharply.

Lie.

“I meant no offense,” he says, offering his large hands, palms up, in a placating gesture. “My name is Ben Solo.” And he waits, expectantly, but he can’t very well ask for her last name without looking awkward.

“Well, _Ben_ , I’ll come back in a few minutes to take your order,” she says, and she walks away. Instinct tells Rey it is dangerous to stay. She always listens to instinct. Instinct has kept her alive.

He wants to talk to her when she comes back. She can tell. “So, uh, do you like Phasma’s class?”

“It’s alright,” Rey says shortly, and she sets his food down with slightly more force than is probably, strictly necessary.

“Listen,” he says, and he reaches out to stop her from leaving. His hand stops short of actually touching her, which is fortunate-- for him. Rey is specific about who is allowed to touch her. But then she looks at him, and thinks that even if he had touched her, his eyes might have saved him with the way they look up at her, dark and beseeching and _lovely_. “Did I... do something to you? I mean, most people don’t hate me until they know me a little better.”

Rey does not think that’s funny. She doesn’t. “Well, you didn’t exactly make the best impression on that life painting class as a whole.” It’s the most diplomatic way she can think to phrase it. She doesn’t want to lose her job, so she probably shouldn’t directly call him an asshole.

He-- Ben-- is quiet for a long moment. “I suppose I didn’t,” he says, almost begrudgingly.

“Well,” she says. Her eyebrows raise, and she moves away.

He doesn’t really try to talk to her again, just says thank you, but she can feel him looking at her (somehow, not in a bad way) and he tips her exceptionally generously.

Maybe he’s an asshole, but he’s an asshole with expressive eyes and good restaurant etiquette.

* * *

Ben comes into the diner again. Rey smiles and is perfectly polite, but she has not forgotten. She does not forget.

He is making an effort to be nice, though. She can see it, and she can appreciate it. So Rey very carefully allows herself to be a very little bit less icy towards him.

Then he smiles at her, and a warm feeling floods her stomach and flushes her cheeks, and she regrets all her kindness.

Poe walks in. “Hey, sunshine. How’s it going?”

Rey rolls her eyes. “It’s not my break yet, dipshit. Order something or get out.”

“Geez, sunshine,” Poe holds his hands up defensively. “Someone’s in a mood today.”

But both of them are smiling.

“Shut up,” she tells him.

“I should think you’d be more happy to see my pretty face.” He winks. “Most people are.”

“Really? People like seeing that ugly mug?”

Poe sits down at the counter, in what is clearly his spot, and Rey makes him a cup of coffee, in what is clearly his favorite way. He takes it and slides her a few dollar bills across the counter. “You’ve got something for dinner, yeah?”

“Of course. I haven’t even gotten close to repeating The Incident,” Rey says with a quirk of her eyebrows.

Lie.

“Good.” Poe looks relieved.

It's not that Rey doesn't like having friends. She's just... not used to it. And she hadn’t passed out in a month, and she hadn’t passed out before then, and she didn’t need one of them coming to the diner on her shifts to make sure she’d eaten. Besides, she wasn’t as tight on money right now, and her mood was... better, so it probably wouldn’t happen again. Soon, at least.

They do it because they love her. But Rey’s never been very good at that, anyway.

“Who’s the dude?” Poe asks, jerking his chin towards Ben, sitting in the corner.

“His name is Ben. Why?”

“Well, he can’t stop _looking_ at you.” Poe watches Rey carefully for a reaction, which she tries not to give, but a dull flush begins to spread over her cheekbones. “Do you want me to beat him up?”

“No!” Rey squeaks. “I mean, it’s fine. He’s fine. We know each other.”

“How do you know each other?”

“Oh, um,” Rey is very interested in her shoes, suddenly. “He’s a model for my life painting class.”

“He’s kinda cute...” Poe considers Ben, blatantly checking him out, and winking when Ben looks up at him. “Maybe you should tap that.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Rey asks exasperatedly, but without any real venom in her voice. “Besides, he’s quite possibly the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, so I think I’ll pass on your charming idea of ‘tapping that’.” Her hands form quotation marks around the words.

Poe raises his eyebrows.

“I mean, he’s a dick to any of the kids who come in late, and he thinks we’re all terrible, and he’s better than us or whatever, and he has no problem letting us know that,” Rey says in a furious whisper, swiping crumbs off the counter.

Poe thinks her determined hatred is compensation, not real, she can tell, but she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t believe herself either.


	2. ii. delicate

“So, I made a friend,” she tells Jess.

Jess beams and gives her an over-the-top hug, pushing Rey’s cheeks together between her palms. “Awww, I’m so proud of you.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”

Jess smirks. “You love me.”

Rey sighs, an agreement, but says all the same, “Sometimes I’m just not sure _why_.” Jess laughs, and something inside Rey relaxes (good, she didn’t hurt anyone, good, she didn’t take it too far this time). “Her name’s Rose. I invited her to come out with us tonight. If that’s okay, I mean.”

A funny look crosses Jess’s face. “It’s not like you have to have our permission. We’re all friends, so I’m sure we’ll be friends with her.”

“Right,” Rey says. But a voice inside her remembers, reminds her it’s only a matter of time before they leave. Everyone leaves.

Jess helps her find something to wear, like Jess usually does. They sort of grew up together, or maybe they got old together. Jess and Rey and Finn had all survived the system. They found each other in their last few years, and maybe, in another life, one or two or three of them would have fallen in love in a different sort of way, forming bonds like _that_ with each other, but in this one, they desperately needed a family, just a _family_ , and so that’s what they became.

It’s only barely still warm enough for the dress Jess picks out, a tight, black, high-necked, sleeveless thing, all shiny and sleek. Jess presses a necklace into Rey’s hands, black beads that look like ink drops against Rey’s throat and where they fall on the dress. Rey leaves her hair down and puts on some eyeliner. It’s about as fancy as she ever could be.

Jess nearly trips over her feet when she meets Rose. The strangest mixture of feelings sweep over Rey as she watches them, Finn and Poe, and Jess and Rose. She’s... happy for them. The happiness is there. But she, she is all alone again, and there’s a conglomeration of sadness and longing and a sick satisfaction, that this how it goes, always, this is how it’s supposed to end: Rey in the middle of the dance floor at a club, watching the world go on around her.

She pretends to be happy, though, because that is what she does, what she is skilled at doing.

(Maybe that’s why she loves painting. The canvas cannot feel guilt over _her_ sadness. There is no need there to pretend to feel what she does not.)

“I’m going to go get a drink,” she tells Jess, who nods, but whose eyes barely leave Rose, all the same.

And someone chuckles, dark and deep, and her head snaps up, and it’s him, it’s him, of course it’s him, his eyes looking up from his table, where he's sitting with a redheaded man and... Phasma. Rey feels a jolt run the course of her spine, ending in a pool of heat at its base. He is looking at _her_ , straight at her, those eyes threatening to swallow her whole, and, and--

She thinks she'd like it.

Her heart thrums in her throat, and she takes a hasty gulp of her drink. It burns as it goes down, just a little bit, but she welcomes it.

Rey has never forgotten how pain can make you feel alive.

Ben is leaving his table and turning and walking away from her, and her breath abandons her body. He had seen her staring at him, oh, shit, what had he _thought_ \--

She decides she needs to go to the bathroom. As she splashes water on her cheeks, she tells herself, “You are not doing this. You’re not doing this. He’s an asshole. Hot, yes, but hot assholes are still assholes.”

A drunk girl pats her shoulder and says, “You got this, girl.”

(Meanwhile, Ben is in another bathroom, but most drunk boys are not supportive like drunk girls; it’s something they were not taught. Meanwhile, he says nothing aloud, but washes his hands and tells himself firmly and silently he is not attracted to a twenty-year-old _girl_. Meanwhile, he is trying just as desperately as she is to deceive himself.)

And then.

And then, they exit the bathrooms at the same time, and she runs right into his solid chest, and he’s holding her waist, and her skin _burns_ under his palms.

“Hi,” he says, but his eyes barely move from her lips.

That’s okay. She can’t seem to stop looking at his, herself. “Fancy running into you here.”

Rey is not drunk. She’s had a couple drinks, but she is not drunk. (Sometimes, she wonders what it would feel like to be so blissfully oblivious and unthreatened by your surroundings, enough to let your guard down like that.) No, she’s not drunk, but with the way he makes her feel, she might as well be.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Rey is scared, terrified, but maybe. Maybe if she just gets him out of her system, she won’t feel this... _thing_ anymore, and everything will be okay. “You _can_ ,” she says, trying for some semblance of archness, and then he is leaning down, leaning closer, and she can feel his breath on her mouth. She closes the gap between them, pressing her lips to his, and his tongue traces the seam of her lips. She opens her mouth, and it is messy, so _messy_ , lips and tongues and teeth sinking into her bottom lip, and a muffled moan escapes her throat.

He breaks from her lips, and murmurs, “Rey,” and oh, he looks so _wrecked_ , like he’s begging her, and she feels a sort of power in the midst of her desire and muted fear that threatens to intoxicate her more than any alcohol ever could. “Do you want to...” But he won’t finish his sentence, opting to kiss her again instead, and she wonders if he’s afraid to scare her off of this, of what they both obviously want.

“Your place?” she asks. “I have a roommate.”

“I don’t.”

“Let me text her,” Rey says, and their faces are still so close together that every word brushes his lips as it leaves hers, “and we can leave.”

And they do, stumbling into a bedroom together, hands on thighs and chests and backs and faces until they are lost, letting go of anchors and all sense. For once, Rey is brave instead of cautious, and nothing has ever felt that _good_.

* * *

**From: Jess**  
**To: Rey**  
**Sent November 17, 10:41 p.m.**  
U go, grrrl! Get it! And get home safe, ok? I want the deets. Love u!!

 **From: Rey**  
you know i always do. love you too

Rey wakes the next morning in a bed she doesn’t recognize, white sheets and a navy blue duvet. An arm is draped over her waist and another cradles her head, almost sweetly. That, more than anything, is what sends a frisson of panic through her. She throws the covers off, grabs her phone, and runs into the bathroom. Rey studies her bare body in the mirror, her neck and breasts and stomach and hips and thighs, marked by bruises left by fingers and teeth.

 **From: Rey**  
**To: Jess**  
**Sent: November 18, 6:39 a.m.**  
i'm awake and alive, coming home soon

She splashes water on her face and finger-brushes her teeth. Then she leaves the bathroom and gets dressed quickly, tugging her panties up her legs and slipping her (Jess’s) dress over her head simultaneously. It wasn’t the kind of dress you wore a bra with, Jess had informed her yesterday, so she hadn’t worn one.

Rey hesitates over Ben, still sleeping in bed. How is she supposed to do this? She... Well... This isn’t the kind of thing she usually does. Part of her thinks it’s better to leave now, before he wakes and things get awkward. The other part remembers she’ll probably have to see him again and thinks it might be rude to leave while Ben is still sleeping.

Then he opens his eyes, and her decision is made for her.

“Were you leaving?” he says, and there’s a disbelief in his voice, laced with an edge of anger.

“My... um, my friends were getting worried,” she tells him.

Lie. 

“Were you at least gonna give me your number?” he asks, and the anger is gone now, leaving only a deep flirtatiousness in his voice that feels absolutely dizzying.

“Um,” she says. And maybe it’s feelings for him, maybe it’s just remembering that she came four times last night, but suddenly, impulsively, she throws her regular rules out the window. “I wasn’t... I didn’t want to wake you, but since you’re awake already...” Rey holds her hand out. Ben hands her his phone, and she punches her number in. He tells her to hold on a second, and sends her a text, just “hey,” and looks up at her and smiles.

“Now you’ve got mine, too.”

* * *

**From: Rey**  
**To: Ben**  
**Sent: November 18, 6:13 p.m.**  
hey, i had a nice time last night

 **From: Ben**  
Me too.

 **From: Rey**  
but i just want to make it clear i’m not really looking for a boyfriend rn. i don’t want to lead you on or anything...

 **From: Ben**  
Who said anything about boyfriends? We are what you want us to be. I’m good with whatever.

Jess squeals when Rey’s phone buzzes. “Is that the guy?”

Rey shrugs. “He gave me four orgasms. I gave him my number.”

“Okay,” Jess says, “first of all, _four_ orgasms? I want to call B.S. but you wouldn’t make that up, so congratulations on hooking up with, like, the Michael Jordan of sex, or whatever. Second, don’t you try to play this off. I know you, Rey. You don’t give guys your number.”

“He guilted me into it?” Rey tries.

“Uh huh.” Jess raises her eyebrows. “Right. Cause you would’ve gone for that.”

“Jess,” Rey sighs.

“Rey.”

“It’s just sex.”

Lie.

Jess doesn’t believe her, but she lets it go for now. Rey is grateful.

“So, are you and Rose dating now?”

Jess blushes. “I... don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look who’s lying now!”

“I mean, we’re a _thing_ , maybe. I guess.”

Rey snorts. “A _thing_? Are we in the ninth grade?”

“Look, we’re going out for coffee tomorrow. So, I don’t know if we’re dating now, but hopefully... maybe.” Jess rubs her thumb over the back of her hand, and Rey recognizes the signal of actual discomfort.

“Hey, so at least our lives have actual interest!”

Jess snorts at that one. “We grew up as foster kids. Our lives have always held interest, but only to storytellers.”

Rey muses for a second, before looking up with a heartbreaking smile and saying, “Maybe they still do.”

* * *

Two days later, after class, Rey is walking away. She’s actually made it all the way to the bridge, an overpass of sorts for student foot traffic, when Ben calls her name. She stops in her tracks and turns her head, the cold wind playing through the hair left uncovered by her grey hat.

“I want to see you again,” he says, no prelude.

“You could’ve texted.”

“I could’ve. But I didn’t. What are you doing tonight?”

Rey considers for a minute. “You, I guess.”

Ben laughs, but in a strange sort of way, like he hadn’t laughed in a while and wasn’t expecting to any time soon. “What time?”

“Ten. After my shift.” Rey pauses. “Don’t pick me up. I remember where you live.”

Distance. Distance was wise. Keep people at arms length, never within reach, never close enough to hurt. So she never again falls asleep at Ben’s place, never stays overnight, never stays more than a night. If she refuses to admit there’s an emotional component, if she insists it’s just sex, maybe she can control it, control him, so he won’t have any power to hurt her.

It works, she insists. She insists that it’s working, even as he is so tender, so gentle, with her, only her, and there is something about someone who is not naturally... like that, doing that _for her_. She insists it’s working, even as Finn and Poe finally stop dancing around each other, even as Jessika and Rose start officially dating, and she becomes a fifth wheel and feels an ache in her heart. She insists it’s working, even as Christmas rolls around and she feels lonely, despite being surrounded by the family she forged out of hearts of steel and broken things. She insists it’s working, even as being around him increasingly makes her ache in her spirit and her body. She insists it’s working.

* * *

Most of the time, their messages look like this:

**From: Rey  
** **To: Ben  
** **Sent: December 31, 4:41 p.m.**  
are you busy tonight? 

**From: Ben**  
No. 

**From: Rey**  
be there at ten 

**From: Ben**  
I’ll see you then. 

Sometimes, they look more like this: 

**From: Ben  
** **To: Rey  
** **Sent: December 31, 6:03 p.m.**  
What’s your favorite color and why? 

**From: Rey**  
green. like, forest green. probably because i grew up in nevada. there’s a serious lack of forests there. what about you 

**From: Ben**  
I guess I haven’t really thought about it. That was part of why I asked, because I wasn’t sure about mine. But I think I like brown the best. It reminds me of growing things, and chocolate. 

Three things are always constant about their conversations: he is never busy when she texts, he never texts her first for propositions, and she never texts him first for anything else. 

He texts so formally, always carefully grammatically correct, no abbreviations, no emoticons. She has wondered, a couple times, if he’s as afraid as she is, just showing it differently. Rey’s tendency is toward bravado, fire, a don’t-fuck-with-me sort of attitude, brash and bold and laughing. Ben... Ben seems to prefer ice to fire, freezing people out instead of burning them away. Rey’s done her fair share of freezing. She should know. 

(But she doesn’t care about Ben’s problems. Of course she doesn’t. His emotional issues are his own, just like hers are her own, because they’re not _dating_.) 

* * *

Ben comes to the diner, still, at least twice a week. Maybe he goes when Rey’s not working, but she wouldn’t know. Somehow, she sort of doubts it. But she knows, now, that he likes to eat takeout or at restaurants, not because he can’t cook, but because he doesn’t like to. He’d told her once that it takes too much time. They learn things by each other, but only by accident. (Well, only by accident for _Rey_ , anyway.) 

She knows he doesn’t talk to his parents very much, although she’s never asked why. She knows he doesn’t like mushrooms on pizza, “or on anything,” he’d said, nose wrinkled. She knows he has his mother’s eyes and his father’s nose (she saw a picture of them, once). She knows his favorite color is brown, like chocolate (and her hair and eyes, but she doesn’t know that), and he likes his coffee blacker than tar. He hasn’t got a sweet tooth, not really, but he can’t say no to ice cream in any form, and he hates mornings. 

Sometimes, it scares her, wondering what he’s learned about her. 

(He knows she has a sweet tooth and intimacy issues. He knows Finn and Jess and Poe are her family in everything but blood, and Rose is slowly reaching that level, too. He knows her favorite color is green, like forests. He knows she grew up in Nevada. He knows she likes her coffee sweet, with plenty of cream and sugar, and the evening is her favorite time of day because it’s balanced between light and dark.) 

There are things, so many things, they don’t know about each other, but a mutual, unspoken agreement exists between them and they don’t either of them ask too many questions. 

Ben comes to the diner, but he never tries to kiss her. Rey wouldn’t allow it. 

* * *

They are together on New Year’s Eve. 

Rey is three minutes late getting to his apartment. She wears [another one of Jess’s outfits](http://destinationkors.michaelkors.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/VF_FameFrame_16.jpg), because, Jess insisted she couldn’t go out on New Year’s Eve looking like _that_ (jeans and a sweatshirt). Rey pointed out it wouldn’t matter because she didn’t plan on spending much time with her clothes on, but Jess didn’t listen. Rey tugs at the hem of the skin-tight green dress and thanks the Lord Jess at least let her put tights on because it’s _so fucking cold_. 

None of that matters when Ben sees her. He nearly knocks his laptop (expensive, probably cost more than she makes in a _month_ ) to the floor in his haste, but that doesn’t matter either, not when his mouth is on hers before she has a chance to even shut the door. 

As soon as she does close it, his hands move to cup her ass and hoist her in the air, pinning her between Ben and the door. Her legs wrap around his waist, and he breaks away from her mouth to lay kisses on her neck, tugging her dress up past her hips, past her breasts. His fingers dig into her black tights, and a little moan escapes her throat, because it’s possibly the _hottest fucking thing_ she’s ever seen. They don’t make it to the bedroom until _after_ , sweaty and sticky and still half-clothed. But it’s less frantic now, less frenetic. He kisses her spine as he undoes her black bra, and she’s almost shocked to hear him voice a question. 

“Are you majoring in art?” 

“Probably not.” 

“You should,” he says between open-mouth kisses on her shoulder. “Phasma showed me some of your paintings. You’re very talented. Extraordinary, even.” 

“I thought we were all sex and alcohol obsessed idiots,” Rey says, half-turning her head around to him. 

“Not _all_ ,” he says lightly. “And I know I was an ass when I was modeling for that class. I’m sorry.” 

Rey wraps her arms around his neck. “Well, _I_ accept the apology, but you might have to come back for a day to apologize to the rest of the class.” 

He snorts. “I don’t care too much what _they_ think.” The unspoken implication that he cares what _she_ thinks leaves her unsettled, so she kisses him again, and no one says anything remotely resembling a coherent sentence for a while. 

Then, when it’s over, Rey goes to pull on her clothes, and Ben says, “You should stay a little longer.” She shouldn’t. It breaks the rules she’s set herself, and she’s already broken enough for him. But he looks at her with those _fucking_ eyes again, and she can’t leave. Not yet. 

“Okay.” 

She breaks her rules once more for him, lets him kiss her at midnight, and spends the night, and wakes up and lets him cook breakfast for them on New Year’s Day, and it’s sweet and she loves it. 

Rey swears to herself she will never do it again. 

* * *

“Surprise him,” Jess says, shoving a bundle of clothes at Rey. Rose giggles from her place on the couch, reclining on the couch with a soda in hand. 

“Um. No,” Rey says flatly. 

“Why not?” Jess whines. “It’ll be fun!” 

“No. It wouldn’t.” 

“Sure it would,” Rose says encouragingly. “You don’t want things to get boring, do you? Be a little reckless!” 

And it _is_ a terrible idea, and it probably _won’t_ be fun, but Rey is in a _mood_ , for a reason she doesn't dare name. She wants to be a little reckless and maybe self-destructive and maybe she’ll regret it in the morning, but right then, it doesn’t matter. 

“Give me the stupid clothes.” 

Rose and Jess cheer and laugh, and Rey watches them kiss with a half-smile on her face, then turns away and pretends she doesn’t feel a hollow longing somewhere in her soul. 

* * *

It’s a [grey, silk, slip-dress](https://s7d2.scene7.com/is/image/aeo/7495_9482_010_f?%24PDP_78_Main%24) and an [open-knit pink sweater](https://s7d2.scene7.com/is/image/aeo/0745_9882_129_f?%24PDP_78_Main%24) that are both much too cold for today, a particularly frigid day in the middle of January, especially at nine p.m. Rey shivers and feels goosebumps forming all across her body. She’s across the street from Ben’s apartment building, and then she’s climbing the stairs and rounding the corner, and her heart stops. 

A woman is standing in Ben’s doorway. She has thick, curly, blonde hair, huge blue eyes, and a full mouth. Rey touches her face self-consciously and wonders if the woman knows how many girls have wanted to look like her. She is beautiful in a way Rey is not. Rey always has been a fire-tsunami-wildfire girl, too angry for beauty. 

The woman has curves, too, but Rey knows better than to envy those. She has been jealous of those in the past, almost hating her own boyish figure, but she has learned. Very few women feel comfortable with their bodies. Rey would be no better off switching her flatness for all the woman’s curves. 

But the fact remains that this woman, whoever she is, could have been perfectly created to throw all Rey’s insecurities (flat mousy hair small mousy eyes thin lips) in her face. And she is standing in Ben’s doorway, talking to Ben. 

Rey’s heart creaks in her chest, like things sometimes do before they snap. Then this unnamed woman leans in close to Ben, and her lips brush his, and Rey _breaks_. 

She must gasp, or something, she doesn’t know, but Ben is looking up, looking at her, and she wants to claw his eyes out, because she doesn’t at all. 

“I can explain, Rey,” he says, and his eyes say the same thing, that it’s all a misunderstanding, that if she’ll just hear him out, it’ll all be okay, and she can be warm and safe again. 

“No,” she shakes her head and takes a step back, “no, you don’t have to explain anything.” Rey gives him a sad half-smile that shines like the tears she curses that gather in her eyes all the same. “I’m not your girlfriend.” 

Then, she turns on her heel, and leaves. 

* * *

She is a block away from his building, feeling like a very stupid, very small, very young girl, in her silly little dress and sweater and boots. But she keeps walking. 

The shards of her broken heart slip into her veins, and she wants to use her fingernails to dig them out. Like she used to. 

But she’s learned, and she knows better. Bleeding doesn’t exorcise your demons, only makes them stronger. 

Two blocks. 

Three blocks. 

Right turn here. 

Cross this street. 

Six blocks. 

Up the hill. 

Over the bridge. 

And she slips a bobby pin out of her hair (Jess had pinned part of it back) and picks the lock. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	3. iii. honey, let's love

Phasma finds her there the next morning, asleep in the front of the classroom, surrounded by everything. Rey had fallen asleep before she’d been able to pick up.

“Rey,” she shakes the girl’s shoulder, “Rey, wake up. Class starts in a half hour, and I don’t think you want to be found like this.”

One of the paintings is of Ben’s face, the one he makes at her when he thinks she isn’t looking, and Rey wakes. Phasma is right. Rey doesn’t want to be found like this.

 _One_ of the paintings. The others are...

Some are chaotic. Some are heartbreak. Some are joy. Some are anger, sadness, happiness, contentment. All are represented the best ways Rey knows; sometimes on her friends’ faces, sometimes not on anyone’s face at all.

Phasma looks at Rey very seriously for what feels like a very long time. “These are very good, Rey. Very good.”

“Thanks,” Rey says-- well, _croaks_ , her voice still scratchy from sleep.

Phasma’s eyes narrow as she takes the girl in-- scrutinizes her, really-- and sees paint on her face and arms, a pink sweater draped over a chair, her hair a rat’s nest, and her eyes... Puffy and red. “Go home, Rey,” she says.

“What?! I can’t miss class!” Rey squawks.

“You can, and you will,” Phasma commands. “When did you fall asleep?”

“I--”

“What upset you so much that you spent a night here, painting? Why haven’t you gone home? How many hours of sleep did you get? Don’t you have a job? Do you have to work tonight? How well will you be able to work if you don’t go home and rest?

“I... I...” Rey stammers, unable to process the questions being thrown at her in such a rapid fashion.

“Go home, Rey.” Phasma crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ll excuse you from class for today.”

Rey nods and begins gathering her paintings.

“And Rey?” Phasma calls.

“Yeah?”

“You love painting. I can see it. Don’t give up things that make you happy.”

* * *

Rey stumbles into their apartment at eight in the morning.

“Rey?” Jess says, coming out of her room. “Aren’t you supposed to be--” She shrieks when she sees Rey. “Holy shit! Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Rey says dully. She painted her emotion out and has none to give Jess now. It’s better that way. “I’m really tired, Jess. I’ll tell you later?”

Jess watches her carefully, but lets her go. Rey is too tired to care about anything. She is asleep before her head hits the pillow.

(Meanwhile, Jess dials a number. Meanwhile, she asks him if he’s busy. Meanwhile, Jess says she’s afraid, that Rey didn’t come home until eight and she doesn’t look good. Meanwhile, he hangs up and come over. Meanwhile, they cook, because that’s how Jess likes to deal with stress.)

The smell of coffee is what wakes Rey. She stumbles out of her bedroom, still wearing Jess’s grey dress. “Finn! What are you doing here? Oh my hell, what time is it?!”

“Five.”

“Like, five in the afternoon?”

Finn nods.

“Oh, shit, Maz is going to kill me! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Hey, we called her--” Finn soothes, but Jess bursts.

“Seriously, Rey?” she says loudly, nearly shouting. “You didn't come home last night, which is fine, I thought, cause she's with Ben, right? But you didn't answer your phone, and I thought maybe it died, but you walk in here at eight in the morning looking like death, and you're covered in paint and holding, like, twenty paintings, so obviously you haven't slept all night and you weren't with Ben and I'm worried about you!”

Oh. Right. Because when people love you, they worry. Sometimes Rey forgets. “I’m fine, guys. It’s okay.”

Finn raises an eyebrow. “Uh, obviously it’s not. We’re your family, Rey. You can tell us anything.” Rey sits at the table and accepts the coffee Jess hands her. “Please, talk to us.”

Rey takes a drink. It’s bitter, more bitter than she usually likes, but she prefers it right now. “Ben, um...” Suddenly, her voice sounds very small and very young. “I saw another girl there. When I went over last night.”

Finn is holding her hand, and Jess says, “Oh,” very softly and quietly, but Rey doesn’t need anyone’s pity.

“I mean, it’s alright. He can see whoever he wants, obviously. He’s not my boyfriend.”

Jess snorts. “Bullshit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Finn looks at her, almost pityingly, and her hackles raise. “Rey,” he says gently, “I’m pretty sure you’re in love with the dude.”

“No! No, I’m not!” 

Lie.

A tidal wave of panic rises in Rey’s belly and threatens to overwhelm her. Loving someone meant giving them the power to hurt you, and everyone leaves eventually. “I am not in love with him! He’s, he’s an asshole! We’ve never even been on a date! I can’t be in love with him!”

“Hey,” Jess says softly. “We get it, Rey. We grew up like you did. We’re afraid, too.”

“No!” Rey yanks her hand away from Finn. “Your mom was a single mother who died in childbirth. _Your_ mother,” she gestures at Finn, “gave you up as soon as you were born. My mother,” her voice shakes, anger and grief and bitterness, “had me for four years and decided she was sick of me, she didn’t love me anymore, and she _fucking_ left! That is not the same!”

“No,” Finn agrees calmly, so calmly, “it’s not. But we had no one, too. We still are afraid of people leaving, Rey.”

“But you can’t let it run your life, sweetheart.” Jess reaches across the table and toward Rey, brushing hair off her forehead, and Rey can see the heartache in Jess’s face, and it takes her breath away, because, _oh_ , is that really how someone can feel about her? “I know it’s scary. I know. But you have to let people in.”

Rey whispers, “But it seems so _easy_ for you.”

“It’s not,” Finn assures her. “Did you ever wonder why Poe and I danced around each other for so long?”

“Of course.”

“Because even though we’d known him for years, and even though he’d seen some of the toughest parts of our lives, I was still too scared to let him get any closer. Even when he was basically adopted into our family and I was in love with him. But he waited, and he didn’t push me, and eventually, I trusted him enough.”

A sentence flashes through Rey’s mind. _We are what you say we are._

“Your mom did a really shitty thing. Some of your foster parents did really shitty things,” Finn says. “But you can’t let that rule your life, because that’s what they wanted. If you let the fear control how you live, those _shitty people_ win.”

“So you’re saying,” Rey says skeptically, “I should love people out of spite.”

Jess laughs a little, and the weight in Rey’s stomach lightens, just a little. “Not exactly, but kind of. Be happy, for sure, and part of that is love, and be happy because of love, and don’t stop yourself, because that’s what those bastards tried to beat out of us, and nothing,” she says fiercely, “ _nothing_ would piss them off more than to see us happy. It’s our best fucking revenge.”

“But what if we love people and they leave?” Rey whispers.

“Then they weren’t worth it,” Jess says simply. “And it hurts, but we move on, and we keep loving and living, because that’s what it is to be alive.”

Rey looks a little stronger, and Jess and Finn smile at each other. They know her, know her anger and bitterness and grief and joy and love, and they love her. Maybe other people could too.

“And I know I’ve only seen Ben, like, twice,” Jess says, “but you should give him a chance to explain. The way he looks at you... It’s like you’re a fucking goddess.”

* * *

**From: Poe**  
**To: Finn**  
**Sent: January 22, 7:39 p.m.**  
the poor idiot is @ maz’s. he looks like a lost puppy.

**From: Finn**  
Are you talking to him? 

**From: Poe**  
u know it boo  <3 

**From: Finn**  
Tell him he can come by Rey’s place tomorrow morning, but leave her alone tonight. I think she’ll be ready tomorrow. 

**From: Poe**  
dumbass doesn’t even know where she lives 

**From: Finn**  
Figures. She’s really scared of being in love with him. You know how Rey is. 

**From: Poe**  
yeah. i’ll give him the address, with the warning not to show up before 10 if he knows what’s good 4 him 

**From: Finn**  
Good plan. Love you. 

**From: Poe**  
ily2  <3<3<3 

A loud knock on the door echoes through Jess and Rey’s apartment. “Got it,” Jess calls, and she opens the door to see Ben standing there. “Oh.” 

“Hey,” he says, hands in his pockets. “Is, um, is Rey home?” 

Jess smiles tightly. “Just a second.” 

She half-closes the door and turns to look at Rey, mouthing, “Are you home?” 

Rey bites her lip, and her fists clench, but she takes a deep breath, and nods. She walks to the door in her oversized sweater that makes her feel like she can hide from the world and steps outside. 

“Hey,” she says, and oh, she sees what Jess means, because as soon as Ben sees her, his eyes go soft (she knew they would) and he looks at her like she is light itself and... and... and _beautiful_ , and her heart stutters. 

“ _Rey_.” 

She will never get tired of hearing him say her name. 

“Rey--” 

“Who is she?” she interrupts, and her voice doesn’t sound as hard as she thought it would. But watching Ben, she thinks her sadness frightens him more than her anger. His arms hang uselessly by his side, and they twitch, like he wants to reach for her but knows he cannot. 

“She is _no one_ ,” he spits. But he sees Rey flinch, and softens. “An ex-girlfriend. She wanted me to take her back. Or maybe she just wanted to hurt me again. I doubt it’s coincidence that I hadn’t seen her in a year, before last night.” 

“Oh,” Rey says. She plays with the sleeve of her sweater and looks down. “So, um...: 

“Rey,” he says again, looking at her so _earnestly_ , and his eyes just pull her in. “I should tell you... I, um. I really care about you, and...” 

She stares up at him, usually light eyes dark and inscrutable. “It’s okay. You don’t... um. You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to...” 

“No,” he insists. “I do. I want to go out with you. On dates. I want to be able to wake up with you in the morning. I know, I know we have our issues, but I like you. Maybe even...” But he is censoring himself, so careful, not wanting to see her run, and she feels a sudden rush of liveliness again, and something tender she is still afraid to name, for now. 

“Hey. I think... me too.” She reaches out and takes his hand. “Me too.” 

And his face is so _beautiful_ to her, now, like it was lit by a ray of sunlight and everything feels bright and warm. 

“I should tell you,” she begins.

Ben steps closer to her then, cradling her small hands in his. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, love.” 

“But I do, I want to,” Rey insists. “I need you to understand.” They sit outside on the steps. It is cold again this morning, but not like it was yesterday, and they are both too wrapped up in each other to feel the cold. “I grew up in Nevada, like I told you. But before then... Well, my accent gives you an idea. I don’t know where I was born. I’m not sure when my birthday is. My mother... I have vague memories of her, but not much. I’m sure she was British. I know she had dark hair. I can sing fairly well, in tune, at least, and I think I got that from her. I remember she used to sing me lullabies. I never knew my father. She didn’t tell me anything about him. But my clearest memory of her is the day she left me.” Rey looks straight ahead and speaks with very little emotion. It’s how she’ll get through this. “She told me she loved me and she’d come back for me. I don’t know what happened to her after that, but she never came back.” 

“Rey...” Ben whispers, and he presses a kiss to her knuckles. 

Rey continues on, her voice stronger. “I grew up in the system. No one wanted to adopt me, a girl who might’ve learned bad habits from her deadbeat mother. I met Finn and Jess because we were all in the system and we all went to the same high school. Poe was a couple years older than us, and as we got older, he helped me and Finn and Jess leave the foster care system. So, yeah, I have some issues.” 

Ben’s hand cups her cheek and he murmurs into her hair, “Anyone would, love. And everyone does.” 

“I, um...” This is the hardest part, the part she stumbles over, not admitting she isn’t sure of her birthdate, not telling of her mother’s betrayal. “I...” 

“If that needs to be enough for today, it can be,” Ben promises. “Don’t... nothing you don’t want to tell me, sweetheart. You don’t have to.” 

“I have some mental health problems,” she blurts, and that’s it, one of her biggest secrets, but he knows all her others, and he hasn’t run yet. 

Ben smiles, and it’s nearly heartbreaking in its beauty, but it’s sad, too, in a way she hadn’t realized smiles could be. “Me too, sweetheart. I know about that. I know that.” 

And finally, he is holding her tight, close to his chest, and his head is buried in her hair (and he wants to tell her he loves her, but that will wait a while yet). “We’ll be fine, Rey.” 

“Okay,” she says, her words buried in the crook of his neck. “Okay.” 

They are lost to the world, and would be indefinitely, if it weren’t for a voice crowing, “Well, I’m glad to see you two made up.” 

Rey looks up and sees Poe standing there, wiggling his eyebrows, holding a red-cheeked Finn’s hand. She rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes on the work as a whole:
> 
> \-- ben is... less of a human disaster in this world, and while he still has a difficult relationship with his parents, there's no snoke and no murder attempt; thus, his name stayed ben  
> \-- his mother is fairly well-known, so he does tend to omit her name and just go by "solo"  
> \-- rey's mom, i headcanon, had a drug addiction. she left rey while she was getting clean, but was killed before she finished the process and could come back for her daughter  
> \-- ben is in grad school, getting his master's in english, but he minored in an art-related thingy, so he does kind of know what he's talking about, a little  
> \-- so he's twenty-five and rey is twenty, which i know is a bit smaller age gap, but you know, it's what worked for the story  
> \-- rey has anxiety and high-functioning depression compounded by ptsd from her experience in the foster care system  
> \-- ben's got issues with anxiety and clinical depression because a) genetics, and b) how he grew up (not that han and leia were bad parents, but sometimes that doesn't matter  
> \-- i've actually thought a lot about the backgrounds and futures of these characters, so i may return to this universe sometime in the future, but, well... that's all for now, folks!
> 
> thanks for reading

**Author's Note:**

> [ come yell at me on tumblr, if you like](https://briony-larkin.tumblr.com)
> 
> also, i have [a spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/21cqi66j2qkv46bydjzjtpn2i/playlist/3zZITs9JYvmG0zyed40QeE) for this, if you're interested
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
